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In honor of my favorite author, Steinbeck, and his road-trip inspiring book, Travels with Charley, I figured my less scripted and often less poetic postings of my random trips might enjoy the similiarity in name, especially since this was my first journey with Harley, my co-pilot companion while Stef is in Hawaii.

We woke up Sunday morning and after a walk and breakfast, decided all of our hard work (ok mine, he doesn’t do much) the previous week to meet deadlines etc, that Harley and I should pack up the car and take a little day trip. A Sunday drive if you will. And what better place to go in August than east to El Centro, the Imperial Valley, and the SALTON SEA! ok, so yea, the heat was there, but that did not deter me and my A/C-in-the-face canine companion one bit as we headed East on I8 to adventure!

After a quick stop at my sisters in Alpine to visit and let our dogs meet and greet, we journeyed through the mountains, up and down 6% grades until we finally decended to the brown valley of flatness. With mexican hillsides on the right, and dessert brush and mini dust tornadoes on the left, we headed to El Centro for a quick gas stop. There we had a toothless man with a great smile comment in broken english the extent he liked my dog. Harley gave him a tail wag, and a sideways head tilt and then, as the gas pump clicked off. The man turned to rummage for plastic bottles in a nearby trash, and we hopped in the car to resume our journey.

From there we headed north, passing along downtown streets through towns that used to busily exist but now just kind of meander through the day. Signs were dusty, and cars sat in park for years at a time. As we continued on roads like S34, we passed a cemetary. Flowers placed with fondness on many of the dusty markers. But as I passed the entrance, I saw a sign that made me do a double take. “Foreclosed. Call supervisor for information at …” I had no idea the recession had hit so hard that cemetaries were now being foreclosed on. I couldn’t even wrap my brain around the concept.

Eventually the buildings and yards became large agriculture squares. Those eventually became dusty fields, and then, like a blue beacon, the Sea appeared on our left. Passing a wash every 1-2 miles entertained me as each one had a different name. A wash is like a dry river bed that if there is a flood, will wash out to the Salton Sea. At this time, each one was barren and only slightly lower than the rest of the land on either side of the road, and hard to imagine holding anything other than tumbleweeds. But to make up for their barren contents, each had a roadsign designating its name. “New Wash”, “Elker Wash”, “Suprise Wash”, “Sunrise Wash” and so on. I wondered what someone in the area had to do to get a wash named, or even named after someone. Having passed by 30 such low-lining dust trails that went under the road to the other side, I decided that the next piece of dessert without a sign would be named “Harley Wash”. When I found one and out loud named it for my dog to hear, “OK pup, this one is for you, Harley Wash” he kind of cringed being as how he is not a fan of baths or getting wet.

After another 30 minutes or so, with the lake following closely to our left, we saw we were coming up on Bombay Beach. Excited at the chance to get out of the car and explore a bit, I accelerated the RAV4 forward and Harley perked up. My good friend Jake is the one who turned me on to the tales and lore and history of the Salton Sea. Its an oddity by nature and humanity. A salt laden valley that flooded in the early 1900s by the Colorado river, a huge body of water with 25x salinity was formed. Fed by agricultural runoff each season has led to poor water quality by most standards for fish as you often see them along the shores decomposing, but birds seem to love the place. Many decades ago, the shores were developed by greedy land prospectors who saw the place as a desert oasis. Docks were built for ships, tracks of housing was built, and stores and bait shops abounded. But as the enthusiasm died for the shores of the Salton Sea, so did the towns. One by one, folks boarded up their homes, packed their mobile trailers and boats, and abandoned the towns. If there is ever a modern day ghost down, Bombay beach was it. What looked like stores selling cold drinks from afar, became closed carcasses upon closer inspection. Following the towns perimeter, there were burned out homes, graffiti and no trespassing signs juxtaposed next to fallen sheet metal and barbed wire.
But then, just as the whole town seemed to be dead, I would pass by a small mobile home with potted flowers on the front steps and a porch swing eerily still moving but with noone sitting in it. People still lived here. Did they realize where they were? The oddity of it all? Was this home to them or a temporary escape? Suddenly feeling like an intruder, I politely continued, looking for some shore access. I turned up a hill over a stay out sign that had not been legible for a decade at least, and pulled up to the shore. My first glimpse of the blue jewel!

Nothing was more mind blowing then the stench of decay and piled up trash and decrepit than the dead fish washing up on the shore. What used to be a dock was now something for the muck to collect on. This was not an oasis anymore. Just a place where dreams used to exist, but now have decomposed. No foreclosure signs were anywhere to be seen, but this place was far from open for purchase. This was fiveclosure.

After Harley and I walked around, we hopped in the car and did a little beach driving with the 4wd. But after hitting some deep spots of sand, my concern of getting stuck in such a place took hold and we retreated to the town and to the main road. My apologies to the residents who are still in Bombay Beach. Home and towns are relative…but I felt like a trespasser. A gawker standing outside an arson scene taking in the juicy gossip. I did not feel welcome, and did not feel like I helped anyone by staying. So I left…trying not to kick up too much dust as I left and disturb those folks who stayed behind.

After more driving, and a stop at a campground with giant white albino lizards that scared harley, we went to the North Shore. No, not Hawaii, although the sign had me do a double take, but North Shore Salton Sea. We wrapped around the top end and instead of checking the towns of Coachella and Indio, famous for music concerts if nothing else, we headed back south along the western shores of the Sea. We pulled into a few towns offering date shakes and drinks, but everything was closed and boarded up. So we decided to power on to El Centro and then home to San Diego.

Harley was the perfect companion the whole time. Not too talkative, but when he did speak up it was always insightful. We shared some kibble and water as we drove, reflecting on the lizards we left behind and the flies that managed into the RAV4 and were coming home to roost on Harleys ears. Maybe those flies were just looking for a way out of there too.

authors addendum: My apologies for anyone who reads this from those areas mentioned that take offense to my less than positive writeup. I certainly did not help the real estate agents with my descriptions. I am sure those still there have alot of love for what they are surrounded by. I just prefer my Seas to have a little more life to them, and of course…better surf.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, August 4th, 2009 at 1:13 pm and is filed under Travels. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.